


A Time and a Place for Ghostbusting

by Chrononautical



Category: Ghostbusters (2016), Ghostbusters - All Media Types, due South
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, Ghosts, Haunted Houses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 21:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8261716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrononautical/pseuds/Chrononautical
Summary: The Canadian Consulate is definitely haunted.





	

For reasons that do not need exploring at this juncture, Holtzmann is in the Canadian Embassy in downtown Chicago, sitting across from the absolutely gorgeous Inspector Margaret Thatcher, when her EMF reader goes off. Curious, but never one to prioritize work over making friends with buttoned up, professional women in Mountie uniforms, Jillian slaps it closed and stuffs it into her messenger bag with a quick apology. 

“As I was saying, Doctor Holtzmann, we are so very sorry about your equipment. I take full responsibility. My subordinate, Constable Turnbull, had absolutely no business driving that backhoe. Sorry, did you need to do something with that?” 

The EMF reader isn’t just registering, it is going crazy. As fascinating as the commanding and well coiffed inspector is, a spike as high as the one Jillian is getting from right next to tall, tidy, and totally closeted is even more compelling. 

“What is that device picking up on? Is there some kind of radiation that we need to be concerned about?” Quick on the uptake as well as adorable. Meg Thatcher is utterly charming. 

“You could say so.” Holtzmann can’t exactly keep her seat when there is such an interesting area to scan. “In layman’s terms, Inspector, this is a ghost detector.” Ken Doll Mountie flinches hard. The readings are amazing. There’s no visual apparition, but the energy is tight and well formed, exactly the size and roughly the shape of a person. More than that, it’s moving. Concentrated and compact, but walking around the room. 

“You’re saying there is a ghost in my office?” Surprised, skeptical, and smart enough to be just a little intrigued. Delightful woman.

“A non-apparating specter, apparently.” Jillian couldn’t completely contain a little giggle. “Un-apparently.” Sobering up a little, she continued. “That’s not to say that it might not be capable of ecto-kinesis or causing harm in other ways, but if it’s this dense and we haven’t seen it, we aren’t going to.” 

Smoothing one impeccably well shaped eyebrow, the man mountie clears his throat. That’s two nervous ticks in the space of a second, for those keeping track, and Holtzmann definitely has him on the hook. “I am quite sure that if there were a spirit or specter on the premises, he would not, that is, it would not mean anyone harm.” 

Holtzmann plays the line. “Most people move on, you know. Spirits that stick around always have unfinished business. Violent deaths, revenge fantasies. Could get nasty.” 

“That is not, I mean to say, an officer might give his life in the pursuit of his duty without seeking vengeance. He might, however, linger to annoy and inconvenience the living.” While he’s speaking, Constable Never Introduced Himself’s voice gets gradually louder. Like he’s talking over someone who keeps interrupting. Funny that, since Holzmann sure wants him to keep going and Meg’s just staring. 

“Well maybe I’m mistaken,” Holtzmann says. “After all, you’ve remodeled the embassy recently and ghosts like familiar surroundings. I can’t see you getting one here unless he was haunting a direct relative.” 

The good constable goes a particularly ghostly shade of pale. Holtzmann does her best not to laugh. That answers that. 

“I feel as though we’re getting off track,” Meg says politely but firmly. If Jillian has a type it is definitely polite but firm. 

“Yes. Yes we are,” Jillian agrees, switching off the EMF detector and shoving it back into her bag. “Sorry. Sorry. I just find historical buildings so distracting. Let me take you to dinner to make up for the ranting.”

Meg is very still and unresponsive for kind of a long minute. 

“Seven thirty? Tonight?” Jillian presses. “That will give me a little time to clean up and make sure none of my busted equipment is going to blow or anything.” 

“Tonight then,” Meg agrees with a slow smile. 

Grinning and trying not to trip over her own feet like a giant nerd as the constable shows her to the door, Jillian remembers to add, “Ethiopian? I know a great place, but not everyone likes Ethiopian.” 

They’re almost to the front door, but she hears Meg’s “I do” loud and clear. Best day ever. Warm tummy fuzzies aside, she even gives the constable her card. 

“Ancestral Overseers, my personal term for your particular brand of phantom, don’t usually devolve. Mostly they fade away or move on after they get the grandchildren or whatever it was that they’re bugging the next generation about. Parents, am I right? Still, no matter the ghost there’s always a chance of degradation and your pops has the potential to become a particularly powerful poltergeist based on the readings I was getting in there. Has he ever affected the physical world?” 

Constable Perfect Posture says nothing, but his lips are pressed together in a thin, red line. He did say his father was a fellow officer. 

“Doesn’t hurt to have my card around,” Holtzmann says. “Just in case something goes wrong. I’m not saying you need a ghostbuster right now, but one day you might. You policing types like to be prepared, right?” 

That seems to strike a chord. The mountie nods once, takes off his stetson, and tucks the card safely into the band inside. Holtzmann can see money and a few other small but important looking items in there. It’s one way to avoid the pickpockets on the mean Chicago streets when he has to leave his little patch of Canada. Still, Jillian’s the last in line to mock a personal quirk, and he really is a very polite guy. 

“Thank you kindly.”

“Awesome. Hey, more importantly, what kind of flowers does your boss like? She seems too imaginative for roses.” 

It shouldn’t be possible, but he looks even more uncomfortable with the question than he was discussing the ghost of his dead father. “I believe, that is to say, I suspect irises may be a particular favorite, though I hesitate to presume.” 

“Awesome,” Jillian repeats. “Thank you kindly.” Canada is her new favorite country. Sadly, she must leave the charming confines of its haunted halls and return to her hotel. She’s got a date to get ready for.


End file.
